


the fairest of them all

by thunderylee



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, Mirrors, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-18 07:32:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12383706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Things in the mirror may not be as they are, but as they should be.





	the fairest of them all

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written for kink bingo (mirrors and doubles).

After a long day of filming, Fujigaya comes home and passes out on his bed, paying no attention to anything other than the backs of his eyelids. In the morning, he opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is his own face blinking sleepily back at him.

It’s a new mirror, it has to be—the old one wasn’t low enough for Fujigaya to see himself while lying in bed unless he was sitting up. Curiously he leans forward to focus on it. Something is strange about his reflection. It could just be that the glass is exceptionally clean, though Fujigaya feels like he’s watching himself in an anime with how brightly he’s shining.

Then he watches his own head lean back, his fingers lifting to his throat and he jerks at the light touch he feels despite his own hands still in his lap. It has to be some kind of illusion, his half-awake conscious reasons. He’s just seeing things. Things that are reminding him how long it’s been since anyone’s touched him.

He hasn’t pleased himself in the shower for a while, but it feels just as satisfying as he flattens his palm against the tile wall and comes so hard that his legs go weak. Once dressed and moderately more functional, he gives himself one final glance in the mirror and shivers at the smirk his reflection flashes back, eyes strong and leering.

At least his mirror thinks he looks good, he thinks as he heads off to the set once again.

*

“Oh, is this a new mirror?” Yokoo comments, peering over Fujigaya’s dresser to check it out.

“Yeah,” Fujigaya mutters, decidedly not looking at it as he searches for his headphones that they’d stopped by to get. “Don’t you think it looks a little weird?”

“Weird?” Yokoo repeats as he leans closer. “Maybe because it’s clean?”

Fujigaya rolls his eyes. “The old one never got dirty enough to—aha, there they are.”

The headphones are buried under a pair of pants that didn’t quite make it to the hamper and Fujigaya holds them up triumphantly. He has to walk in front of the mirror to get to the door, rushing with his head down until he realizes how stupid he’s being and looks right into the glass. Everything is as it should be, and while he’s there he checks to make sure he hadn’t messed up his hair during his search, noting how Yokoo is just sitting on the edge of his bed waiting for him.

“You’re such a girl,” Yokoo says, and Fujigaya just laughs.

“If I’m a girl, then you’re paying for dinner,” he shoots back, and the next time he glances behind his reflection, Yokoo is much closer. “What—?”

Yokoo’s eyes stop him dead in his tracks, staring at him so hard that he can’t remember how to speak as the older man approaches Fujigaya, their eyes locking over the shoulder of Fujigaya’s reflection. Then he lowers his mouth to the back of Fujigaya’s neck and Fujigaya’s scream gets caught in his throat, his senses a twist of pain and pleasure as the Fujigaya in the mirror just closes his eyes and parts his lips with a silent moan.

Quickly Fujigaya turns around, finding Yokoo right where he’d previously been, like he’d never moved. Back in the mirror, Yokoo is reflected as he should be, but there are two reddening puncture marks where he’d supposedly been bitten and when Fujigaya lifts his hand to touch it, it stings.

“Wataru?” he asks carefully. “Do I have a mark on my neck?”

Now Yokoo really does stand up and approach Fujigaya, those eyes boring into his through the mirror. Yokoo’s breath is hot on his shoulder as he examines Fujigaya’s neck, his reflection smirking evilly as he admires his handiwork.

“Nothing,” Yokoo replies in his usual voice. “Did you burn yourself with the flat iron again?”

“Nothing,” Fujigaya repeats, ignoring the jab as he leans closer into the mirror. The marks are there, bright as day, burning under his own touch as he runs his fingers over them. Then he glances up to see Yokoo standing behind him in the reflection, admiring his bent-over position like he wants to take advantage of it, and Fujigaya stands up and spins around so fast that his head spins.

Yokoo’s just standing there, a comfortable distance away, tilting his head in concern. “You okay?”

Without answering, Fujigaya runs across the hall to the bathroom and examines his neck in that mirror. Nothing. Not even an indentation in his skin.

 _There’s something wrong with that mirror_ , is on the tip of his tongue, especially when Yokoo stands questioningly in the doorway of the bathroom, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. It even sounds dumb in his head, like the plot of a horror flick or more appropriately a porno parody of one. Who would believe that his mirror displays sexual interactions between whomever it reflects?

Not only displays, Fujigaya thinks as he periodically lifts his hand to his neck throughout the day, unable to ignore the throbbing that lingers.

*

The mountain of shopping bags crash onto Fujigaya’s bed, followed by Senga. “I think this is the true meaning of ‘shop ’til you drop’,” he mutters into the bedspread.

Fujigaya flops down right next to him, stretching out on his back as he lets his own bags fall from his fingers. “I am _exhausted_.”

“I can’t move,” Senga replies with a laugh. “It’s times like these I wish we were magic, then we could just cast a spell to put everything away.”

“And bring us something to eat,” Fujigaya adds. “I could eat, like, everything right now.”

“You could cast a spell for that, too,” Senga tells him. “Magic is amazing.”

He’s speaking like it’s real, which has Fujigaya looking over to his mirror. He really shouldn’t have, because he doesn’t have the energy to turn away when he sees the Senga in the mirror lean up on his elbows and meet his eyes. He’s giving Fujigaya a dirty smile and Fujigaya closes his eyes, trying to will the thought from his mind, but he’s too curious. Unlike a fantasy, he doesn’t get to decide what happens next. In a way, it’s thrilling.

Something gropes him right between the legs and Fujigaya’s eyes fly open, watching the Senga in the mirror lean over him and palm the crotch of his pants. Fujigaya’s terrified that he might actually be doing it to himself subconsciously, but both of his hands are situated behind his head, tightening slightly on his own hair at the pressure building from the stimulation that isn’t actually happening.

“Ken-chan,” Fujigaya gasps, trying to keep his voice from giving him away. “Did you see I got a new mirror?”

“Did you?” Senga repeats with minimal interest, and a chill crawls up Fujigaya’s back when Senga’s reflection doesn’t move his lips along with the words. Additionally, Senga’s voice is muffled, like his face is still pressed into the bed.

There’s a shift next to him while the Senga he’s looking at doesn’t move and Fujigaya’s heart jumps into his throat. “Look into it,” he prods. “The clarity is really amazing.”

“Don’t wanna move,” Senga whines, and Fujigaya can’t stop the arch that claims his spine as he feels the tight coil of fingers around his cock. In the mirror, Senga’s got his pants open and a hand wrapped around him, stroking him to full hardness, but it’s hindered by the fact that Fujigaya’s pants are actually closed.

He bites back a moan, his only peace of mind being that the real Senga can’t see him right now. He doesn’t doubt that _his_ reflection is accurate, face flushed and chest heaving as he continues to feel something that’s not real. It sure seems real, though, to the point where Fujigaya thinks he may just come in his pants untouched, and frantically he forces his head straight and focuses on his ceiling.

Everything stops. Fujigaya breathes a sigh of relief as he sees for himself that nobody’s hovering over him. His erection is noticeable in his pants, but it should go away in a minute. He takes a few deep breaths to calm down, and it works until Senga sits up with a groan and directs his eyes toward the end of the bed.

“It does look clearer than usual,” he says, his face void of any kind of extreme reaction.

Against his better judgment, Fujigaya follows Senga’s gaze and immediately regrets it. His mouth drops open as he watches the Senga in the mirror drop his head to Fujigaya’s lap, taking Fujigaya’s cock between his lips and not stopping until his nose meets Fujigaya’s skin.

“Oh my god,” Fujigaya says, unable to hold back the words as he feels a hot mouth around every inch of him, his hips starting to lift on their own accord.

“Gaya? Are you okay?”

It takes all of Fujigaya willpower to tear his eyes away and look up at the real Senga, who’s staring down at him in concern. “You don’t see anything strange in the mirror?” he asks desperately, his voice cracking with how incredibly turned on he is, which only gets worse as Senga brings his hand to Fujigaya’s forehead.

“You’re burning up,” Senga says, and Fujigaya thinks that’s a hell of an understatement. “I’ll get your mom.”

“No!” Fujigaya exclaims, grabbing for Senga’s arm as he goes to stand up, and Senga gives him a confused look. “I mean, she’ll just get upset that I’m not taking care of myself again. I’ll be fine, I just need to, um, cool down.”

“I should let you rest,” Senga says, gently pushing Fujigaya’s damp bangs out of his face before he moves back, and Fujigaya’s surprised to learn how much he’d been sweating. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”

Fujigaya turns back toward the mirror like his eyes were magnetically demanded, just in time to watch Senga bop up and down on his cock while he thrashes on the bed, head tilted back and mouth open. That’s all the warning Fujigaya gets before his body explodes, an orgasm unlike any other ripping through him, and all he can do is roll over onto his stomach and moan as he shudders.

“This just came on so suddenly, didn’t it?” Senga says quietly, and Fujigaya would laugh at the ironic wording if he wasn’t so humiliated. “Take better care of yourself, okay? We can’t be Kisumai without our F.”

It’s petty and dumb, but Fujigaya just pretends to be asleep, lying still as he forces his breathing to calm. He jumps when Senga’s touch returns to his hair, but Senga doesn’t seem to be suspicious. The minute his door closes, Fujigaya’s sitting straight up, glaring at his reflection in the mirror that just stares back at him.

“What do you want?” he hisses, feeling ridiculous for talking to a mirror—he’s not Tamamori, after all.

Naturally the other Fujigaya doesn’t answer him, just gives him a saucy look that’s more bone-chilling than hot. He has half a mind to grab the closest sharp object and throw it at the mirror over and over again until the only thing left is shards, but the superstition about seven years of bad luck lingers in the back of his mind. Not to mention that’s kind of insane.

Maybe he’ll just ask his mom to take it back. Play the diva card and say he doesn’t like it, that it’s unflattering or something. Even if she just gives it to one of his brothers, as much as he doesn’t want to think about anything _they_  would see in the mirror, it won’t be his problem anymore.

In the meantime, he really needs a shower.

*

Tamamori stands in the middle of Fujigaya’s bedroom, frowning at the newest addition to the decor. “This feels weird.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Fujigaya says, purposely not looking at the mirror as he focuses on Tamamori’s discontent face instead. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What?” Tamamori asks, turning to look at Fujigaya and jumping back at Fujigaya’s undoubtedly desperate eyes. “It’s weird that you brought me here to look at a mirror.”

Fujigaya sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed as he puts his head in his hands. The attempt to get the mirror out of his room didn’t go over well at all; apparently his mother had gotten a good deal on it at a yard sale and was a little hurt that Fujigaya didn’t like it. As he couldn’t exactly tell her _why_ he didn’t like it, he just sucked it up and put his guilt over his comfort.

“I swear to god, that thing is haunted or something,” Fujigaya mumbles, feeling like a complete idiot speaking the words aloud, “and you’re the only one I know who can sense stuff like that.”

“I can?” Tamamori replies, though he looks considerably less creeped out when Fujigaya looks up again. He frowns at Fujigaya’s serious face and gives the mirror one more glance. “It looks like a normal mirror to me, Gaya. I’m sorry.”

Fujigaya must look pretty pathetic, because Tamamori sits down next to him and pats him awkwardly on the back. Fujigaya tries to wait until his gaze bypasses the mirror, but he doesn’t wait long enough. His eyes open to see Tamamori nuzzling his neck, all of their clothes gone with Tamamori looping his arm around one of Fujigaya’s legs, holding him open as he thrusts into him.

It’s so explicitly clear right in front of Fujigaya’s face that he just stares, his jaw dropping at the sight. He can feel it, too, stimulating him deep inside, and he can’t stop himself from squirming where he sits.

“Gaya?” Tamamori asks, his low voice having a completely different effect on Fujigaya now that he’s watching Tamamori’s cock move in and out of his body. “What do _you_ see?”

“You really don’t want to know,” Fujigaya replies quietly.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Tamamori squeezes his shoulder and pauses. “Tell me anyway. I do weird things all the time, right? That’s why you wanted me to come look at it.”

“Tama-chan,” Fujigaya starts, shaking his head as he pulls his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth as the pressure becomes too much.

“You’re really scaring me right now,” Tamamori says. “Are you possessed or something?”

The way Tamamori asks is so casual that it has Fujigaya letting out a short laugh. “Sort of. Whatever happens in the mirror happens to me.”

“What happens in the mirror, Gaya? Just tell me.”

Fujigaya cringes as he watches the Tamamori in the mirror reach down to curl fingers around his cock, pulling him off hard and fast, and if Fujigaya doesn’t fess up soon, Tamamori is going to find out the hard way.

“Whoever is here with me,” Fujigaya gasps out. “It shows us doing…dirty things.”

“Dirty like…” Tamamori trails off, presumably putting two and two together and recognizing Fujigaya’s reaction for what it is. “Does it stop when you look away?”

“Yes, but—”

Tamamori grabs his face, holding it steady and staring right into his eyes. “Don’t look at it. Look at me. Look at my eyes and calm down. It can’t get you if you don’t let it.”

Desperate to make it stop, Fujigaya clings to Tamamori’s arms and follows directions, swallowing hard as he focuses on Tamamori’s brown eyes that are intently looking back at him.

“Breathe,” Tamamori says, and Fujigaya lets out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Tamamori loosens his grip on Fujigaya’s face and pushes the hair out of his eyes, smiling as the tension starts to leave Fujigaya’s body. “Better?”

Fujigaya nods, his heartbeat slowing down with each passing second. “But it will still be there the next time I look,” he says, whining like a child who’s scared of a monster under his bed.

“Wait here, and _don’t look at it_ ,” Tamamori says firmly, and Fujigaya covers his face with his hands while Tamamori walks around his room making a multitude of unidentifiable noises. “Okay, now you can look.”

Fujigaya lifts his head and grins so hard his face hurts at the three sheets that have been fitted over the mirror, blocking it completely. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” he says.

“You were preoccupied,” Tamamori tells him. “Now we just have to think of how to get it _out_ of here. Have you tried telling your mom? Not the truth, obviously, but something…”

“Yeah and she got all upset that I didn’t like it,” Fujigaya replies, and Tamamori nods knowingly. “Unless we go out and buy an exact replica…”

Tamamori runs a finger alongside the frame underneath the sheet. “Looks too unique. Maybe this will work for now? How often does she come in here?”

“Not very much, and I can take it down when I leave.” Fujigaya feels considerably lighter, his spirits lifted. “Thanks a lot, Tama-chan.”

“I have to know,” Tamamori says, leaning against the dresser, “what exactly was I doing to you in the mirror?”

Fujigaya rolls his eyes. “Use your imagination.”

Now Tamamori looks vividly traumatized and Fujigaya doubles over laughing, happy that someone else finally has to share his uncomfortable images.

*

Kitayama lets out the most unattractive belch on the planet, and Fujigaya wonders how so many people want to have sex with him. “Excuse you,” he says pointedly.

“I love your mom’s cooking _so much_ ,” Kitayama replies, leaning against the wall while Fujigaya roots through his movie collection. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner.”

“You invited yourself when you found out what she was making, but you’re welcome.” Fujigaya grumbles as he twists his body to look in the very back of the TV stand. Of course Kitayama would want to borrow the movie that’s in the most inconvenient location. If he finds it, he’ll tell Kitayama to keep the damn thing. Clearly he never watches it himself.

“Why are there sheets over the mirror?” Kitayama asks, paying no mind to the way Fujigaya bangs his head on the TV stand in a frantic effort to get up. “Oh, this is nice! Your mom has excellent taste.”

“Don’t—” Fujigaya starts, but it’s already too late. Though it’s already been a couple weeks since Tamamori had covered the mirror, the reflection attacks him ten times stronger because this time it’s _Kitayama_ in there with him, moving toward him predatorily while the real Kitayama is still admiring the woodwork.

Fujigaya falls forward onto his bed, staring helplessly as he watches himself welcome Kitayama into his mouth, wrapping his arms around Kitayama’s shoulders as they kiss heatedly. Fujigaya’s lips feel warm, his tongue tingling like something is touching it, and his body temperature soars higher than when the others had been doing much worse to him before his eyes.

“Taisuke?” Kitayama sounds concerned for Fujigaya’s welfare for probably the first time in a decade. “What’s wrong?”

“I give up,” he says weakly, shaking his head at the mirror, and the second Kitayama is within arm’s reach, Fujigaya grabs his collar and yanks him so hard that they both tumble back onto his bed. Kitayama gives a yelp of surprise, but then Fujigaya leans up to press their lips together and Kitayama freezes.

It feels even better when it’s real, leading Fujigaya to forget that it’s Kitayama he’s actually kissing as all of the sexual frustration he’s accumulated recently floods him at once. He wraps his arms around Kitayama’s neck and pulls him close, arching underneath the weight of his body that stretches out as Kitayama slowly comes back to life from his initial shock.

“Don’t,” he whispers when Kitayama tries to pull away. “It’s that goddamn mirror. It shows me doing filthy sexual things with everyone who comes into my room. I’m so tired of fighting it. Maybe it will stop if I give it what it wants.”

Kitayama blinks down at him. “I was just going to close your door.”

Blinking, Fujigaya leans up on his elbows while Kitayama hops off of him and crosses the room, quietly closing the door and flipping the lock for good measure. Then he turns back to Fujigaya and the heat in his eyes couldn’t be emulated by any glass. The Kitayama in the mirror tackles Fujigaya approximately four seconds before the real one does, straddling his waist and lifting both of their shirts over their heads before returning to Fujigaya’s mouth like he’d never left.

Kitayama’s a fierce kisser, fast and impatient and it has Fujigaya rushing to keep up. It’s Fujigaya who reaches for Kitayama’s pants first, popping the button and lowering the zipper while Kitayama moans into his mouth. Audio is something he never got from the mirror, and Fujigaya craves more of it as he reaches into Kitayama’s open pants and feels the weight of his cock in his hand.

“Taisuke,” Kitayama gasps, pushing into the funnel of Fujigaya’s fingers as his own hands shove down Fujigaya’s pants. “What do you see in the mirror?”

“Huh?” Fujigaya replies, highly distracted by the way Kitayama touches him roughly, perfect.

“The mirror,” Kitayama hisses. “You said it shows you doing filthy things. Tell me what I’m doing to you in it.”

Fujigaya lolls his head to the side and tries to focus on the mirror, where Kitayama’s bouncing up and down on his cock while Fujigaya thrusts from beneath him. It’s possibly the most pleasant encounter he’s seen so far, or that could just be because Kitayama’s hands are all over him concurrently, one stroking him while the other explores the planes and valleys of Fujigaya’s chest.

“You’re riding me,” Fujigaya says, and Kitayama groans into his neck. Lips fasten onto a particularly sensitive spot behind Fujigaya’s ear and he arches, moderately disturbed as his mirror image doesn’t make the same movement. “I’ve got my hands on your thighs and I’m pushing up into you really hard.”

“Mm, that sounds nice,” Kitayama replies, lifting his mouth to speak right into Fujigaya’s ear. “I bet we look pretty fucking hot together.”

Fujigaya watches the Kitayama in the mirror fall forward and and crush their mouths together, pushing back faster than Fujigaya can move his hips, and Fujigaya feels it tight around his cock, much tighter than Kitayama can create with his hand. “Yeah.”

“Let’s make it happen,” Kitayama whispers, his breath tickling the inside of Fujigaya’s ear, and Fujigaya nods so hard that he almost smacks Kitayama in the face. Then Kitayama’s back in his mouth, kissing him so intensely that Fujigaya forgets all about the mirror, forgets how he’s not supposed to be attracted to Kitayama, and completely ignores how Kitayama slicks Fujigaya’s fingers and urges them between his legs. At least until Kitayama’s tightening around them and moaning into his mouth, shamelessly pushing back and working Fujigaya’s cock like it’s his own.

A condom is rolled onto him and Fujigaya’s hips are already moving, desperate for friction and Kitayama only makes him wait long enough to coat his length with more lube. They both hiss as Kitayama sinks down onto him, slowly taking him in all the way, and Fujigaya looks up to find Kitayama staring down at him, eyes hooded and cheeks flushed. He just sits there for a second as his body adjusts to having Fujigaya inside him, which drives Fujigaya crazy because all he wants to do is _move_.

“Just because I’m on top doesn’t mean I’m doing all the work,” Kitayama mutters, and Fujigaya feels strangely comforted by the familiar snark. “If you want me to ride, you’ll need to make the waves.”

He doesn’t have to tell Fujigaya twice. Planting his feet firmly on the mattress, he grabs Kitayama by the thighs and snaps his hips upward, just like his reflection had done, and god it’s so much better than whatever he’d felt from the mirror. Kitayama is hot and tight and light enough to bounce almost all the way off, which has Fujigaya hitting him deeper on the way back down, and all he can do is lay there and arch beneath him.

His head falls back and to the side, a quick motion in front of him making him open his eyes all the way, and he stares mesmerized at the sight of them in the mirror. It’s actually them this time, every action emulated exactly in the glass, and Kitayama catches his eye through his fringe of bangs that are plastered to his forehead.

“Never knew you had a mirror kink,” he comments, and the Kitayama in the mirror falls forward to demand Fujigaya’s attention just as the real one does. “Does it show you getting me off yet?”

Fujigaya would roll his eyes if he wasn’t so damn into it, only grumbling a little as he pries one of his hands off of Kitayama’s thigh to wrap around his cock. Kitayama’s chuckling until Fujigaya starts to jerk him hard, the noise quickly turning into a loud moan as Fujigaya leans up to muffle it with his mouth. The way Kitayama falls apart on top of him is so satisfying, especially when he tightens around Fujigaya’s cock to the point where Fujigaya has to thrust even harder to push through the resistance.

He knows Kitayama’s going to come just before his choked noise dies on Fujigaya’s tongue, his body shuddering as he spills over Fujigaya’s fingers and Fujigaya can’t hold back anymore. He grabs Kitayama by the hips and pushes into him twice more, spending himself and falling back onto the bed with a desperate gasp for air. Kitayama collapses right on his chest and predictably starts to fall doze off.

“Hey, don’t sleep,” Fujigaya says, poking at him.

“The next time you want to fuck me,” Kitayama mumbles into his neck, “don’t make up some lame excuse about sexually possessed mirrors.”

“Wasn’t an excuse…” Fujigaya says, trailing off as he looks toward the object in question. In the faint layer of steam that has fogged up the glass from their combined efforts, there’s a big heart with their initials inside it like it’s a teenage girl’s notebook.

Fujigaya wrinkles his nose as he considers burning the damn thing, because there’s no way in hell _that_ is going to happen.


End file.
